Unintentional Radiator

The sexual adventures of a newly divorced woman.

Bluey and the hidden entrance.

I met Bluey on Tinder. It was silly, really. We were just goofing around, talking crap…..Chin music. He had as my friend E would say “mad game.” He was very forward. He was cheeky! Best of all, he was funny.

He sent me a picture and I told him he was gorgeous.

We’re gonna fuck!

I could imagine him bouncing up and down on a trampoline whilst typing it. His enthusiasm was catchy.

Yes. Yes we are.

I saw him a few days later. Early in the morning. He came over and wordlessly, we took our clothes off and charged each other. He had a lot of power and an exceptional cock. He knew how to use it. He fucked me hard. Just how I like it and then he made me cum in the most spectacular way. This guy had chops.

Here’s the thing: Not every person can screw like that I know this for sure. If there were only a dozen men in New York with this special power I had been with 4 of them. In other words, as rare as it might seem, being a great lover is the baseline with me and somehow I had been lucky this year. I was hopeful when I was meeting Bluey that I might be able to add him to the roster. I wanted fresh blood, but I wanted to like my next guy. I also had J: a new one, a sexy chick and fellow single mum. Sweet, self aware and womanly, it had been too long for that.



We fell back, shaky. He started talking. He told me you doesn’t normally do this kind of thing which, didn’t matter to me at all. He had a funny accent and I’ve never seen someone move their mouth like that when they talked. He looked at my face when he talked to me, his hands were nuggety, we had the the same colored eyes, he smelled wonderful, he wriggled a lot, he was soft and hard in all the right places – in his mind and his body. He was a ranga, a blood nut, a bluey. He knew who he was and that’s the best kind of man to be around.

Everything that came out of his mouth was either funny or true. On reflection, I tried to differentiate between the matrix of factors that went into what transpired that morning but ultimately this is the reason it happened for me: everything was either funny or true. We fucked some more and literally moved the bed. When he touched me I felt my innards go achy. He was sexually liberated. While this is important for women it matters where men are concerned too. When two sexually liberated people get together there’s no telling how good it can be.

After some time we lay in each other’s arms. He touched my hair and kissed my neck. He held my hand. I wanted him to do all of that. I hardly remembered how it felt to want someone to do this; touch me in this way, instead of viewing it as an unpleasant but necessary byproduct of the sex act. It was amazing really, how quickly I fell into it. It was a lightning fast attraction. Bluey had found the hidden entrance without much effort at all. We knew we were in it deep already; enough to clear our rosters. I didn’t even try for a second to shake him off.

To E’s astonishment, I spent the next few days declining the usual invitations.

I’m gonna stick with one guy for now. I’m out of the game. Good luck. 

I didn’t even look back.


The Zephyr

The Zephyr came to me and showed me the way.

At least, that’s what R thinks.

And maybe it’s true. I met the Zephyr when I was headstrong, fine. I thought so anyway.

It was a chilly November night. We talked for hours. When he kissed me I felt all of my armor fall down in a heap at my feet.

I asked him to come back to my apartment. We sat on the couch and made out. He was an exceptional kisser. His heart was in his mouth and I swallowed it whole, and then some. Everything he did surprised me. His fingers were filled with electricity and my body was a conduit. It was intense, he was intense. I’ve never wanted someone so much. I was intellectually, creatively and emotionally turned on by him. I was soaking wet.

He was beautiful. Looking I mean. There was something else though. He was sweet like a child. Completely open, not stranded on an island of fear, not guarding himself the way we all do using whatever vehicle necessary to protect ourselves. He was just strong in himself. He was a good man.

Later, I was on the train and he crossed my mind. Instantly and involuntarily I was wet.

The Zephyr appeared in the sky and showed me the way and not for nothing, he made me happy.


There’s something about Marvin

Marvin is a slip knot.

Marvin has a type of magical power that only true masters posses. I’m not sure if it’s how he is with everyone or just our dynamic and really, I don’t want to know either way.

Marvin, like a hypnotist gets me to do whatever he likes, or more precisely everything he knows I don’t like. However, Marvin reads my body not my mind.

So here’s the thing: Hank, Tiger, The Dominican, all my regulars were good. They give me what I want and goddamn I appreciate them. A lot. Marvin does something else: he fucks with my head, through my body.

And that is the best kind of sex.

The last time Marvin had put his cock anywhere near my ass I was emphatic: No! Marvin has a big dick and I knew it would hurt. It turns out it wasn’t that though, after we had been together; that night I dreamt in full color about an old lover who deeply affected me. He was my lecturer in art school. 15 years older than me, beautiful looking, intellectual, complete insecure ass. The sex, however, was fantastic. I dreamt about a time we were in a house under renovation, amongst the sawdust, J had bent me over the couch and when I was as wet as possible he fucked my ass and it was glorious. Saying all of this, I’m not a fan of anal sex. At all.

So. Marvin, a pioneer in the real sense, pushed me there. Of course, I had sex that day and it was good (he tied me up with an electrical cord) but I was due to see M who was finishing work. At 3 am I was writing an academic paper and I was tired, overwrought and frazzled. When I saw him I remembered why: my goodness he’s gorgeous. I mean, physically, it’s like spotting a buck in the snow, you want to kill it but it’s too beautiful so you let it go because you can’t bear to accept your own death.

We were fucking, and in my favorite position, Marvin started to put his cock in my ass. No! Marvin collapsed on the bed saying something along the lines of trust, tied into fear etc. he’s not a dummy.

I’m not saying it’s calculated. This is what’s most interesting: Marvin is a natural Dom. He’s the real deal. He has no idea about this though. In “normal” life he’s just a controlling man who enjoys sex and my goodness Marvin likes to control me.

So Marvin and I had anal sex. It hurt, I was fearful, shaking even.

I had multiple orgasms.

Marvin has a way with me that is just right; he tells me what to do with my body (or just puts my body there) and he maneuvers me in the best sense. When he’s with me, he owns me. He’s earned it. He fought for it. He can insert a finger and know my exact temperature.

Marvin and only Marvin can take me there. There’s a thesis in that somewhere.

Here’s where it all falls down. Marvin doesn’t know to stroke my hair and tell me I’m alright afterwards. He’s not……nice. And that, fucks with the order of things. I couldn’t have Marvin seeing me as a slut. The end game is always about mutual respect.

Marvin liked to bang on about how brave I was but I was beginning to think I was a fool. I had been noticing recently that trusted friends were beginning to treat me differently; my work husband had groped me in a drunken moment. This sent shivers along my shoulder blades. Who could I trust? Did I need to keep all of this a secret like Marvin does?

I don’t like to hide in the shadows. I’d done that for too long. I even talked to my mother about it: “Good!” she said. “I’m glad you’re enjoying male company.” Well, I was definitely representing that side of the family, a group of nuns and nurses.

It’s dirty work but someone’s got to do it.

Wish you were here: You’re so old.

I received a birthday card from my ex-husband.

The inside read “wish you were here.”

“Wish you were here” had been crossed out with a black marker. Underneath, he wrote “you’re so old.”

There was a picture of a pig on the front.

Two nights before I had been thinking about the resolution of our marriage. For the first time ever, I considered how much I probably hurt him. When it ended, there wasn’t a gray area for me: once it was done I was done. I had given it everything I could and there was no looking back. It must have been painful for him to see someone completely turn over without even a sideways glance.

The only present I received on my birthday was a box of dried fruit. The metaphor is obvious.

It was a hard week. This time last year, I had already drawn up separation papers and my parents had begged me not to take any action until after Christmas. On the night of Halloween, after all our birthday party guests left I tried to salvage the puce remnants of our marriage. “I just want to love you and I want you to love me.” He turned to me. We were standing in the dining room. “You need to stop talking.” He hated any type of conversation which rallied emotions. I stepped forward and put my arms around him. “It’s ok. I just want to be here with you.” He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me so hard I almost fell over. I was shocked. I followed up with a push back. Except, I underestimated how drunk he was and he fell backward into a chair and split his face open, badly. There was a big gash on his chin and he has a permanent scar to show for it.

It was horrible.

D didn’t speak to me for almost two weeks afterward. I mean this literally. He would stand outside of any room I happened to be in and speak to the children from the hallway. If I addressed him it was met with silence. He skulked around the apartment like a marauder, taking what he wanted when I was not present. That was always my punishment and it was the best one to serve. I liked to get into the belly of a problem and  look at it until I could solve it. Depriving me of dialogue was like taking food away.The jigsaw fell into place, and I withered.

8 weeks later I gave him the papers and our house of cards toppled.

So I had been thinking about this. Or more, specifically, I had been having physical symptoms without knowing their origin and that would cause me to question. (I would feel unable to breathe or my throat would tighten). I could only guess why it was happening. I never used to be like this. That’s why I liked to keep it hidden, I knew how it must look: a train wreck, a mess, ugly. If my prior self saw me, I would have thought I was pretty fucked up.

So on Halloween I handed out candy on my stoop with my friends and then we spent the evening together.

Afterward I saw Marvin. It ended badly, with an argument. I felt sure I wouldn’t see him again.

I had come home with Marvin to find an envelope from my divorce lawyers. They had told me if I didn’t get my papers by Halloween I should call them. So here I was: Halloween Eve, placing the envelope on the table.

All of this, every single piece of the shipwreck, all of the resulting debris had been brought about by my own hand.

Later, unrelatedly; P was talking about her Sailor: “I can’t have a boyfriend, I’m too fucked up.” I proffered that she saw it out.  “Until I fuck it up…. Like you do – excuse me.”


I slept on the couch after Marvin left and woke then slept again until Hank sent me a text.

Hate sex. Just what I needed.

Except it wasn’t like that at all. I told him I’d had a night that ended badly and I had just received my divorce papers. And then I cried. I tried to stop it, I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. He touched my shoulder (which, is all we can do). He talked to me nicely, as a fellow divorcee he understood. And then of course, we fucked. He asked about the bruises on my thigh. “From another lover.” (Marvin). I had shown Marvin the bruises the night before and he had said “those weren’t from me.” I didn’t understand this: why would I lie about that?

Afterward, or in between Hank he held me close, kissed my face and touched my hair. Maybe he did have a soul, and… maybe I did too.

This brings to mind a few things: When he met me the night before, Marvin had told me he had been looking forward to hearing “one of my stories.” Ok. But it was my birthday and I wanted to be with my friends and surely that was understandable? Hank had told me that he “liked me so much because I was able to compartmentalize (I’m a master) and didn’t seem to care either way.” In other words, these guys liked me because I was a slut. An easy lay. A casual, come what may girl. There is one caveat: No one should say it. When I left Marvin’s work; completely unsolicited, a bouncer said to me “your fuck car is waiting outside.” Did I look lost? Why say that at all?

To be pragmatic, they were right. Well, except the bouncer who, was just a dick. Hell, maybe I was lost but isn’t everyone?  I didn’t like the stigma. Was this a case of many rains turning to rivers? Could I do this forever with them or did I need a new set of men? I didn’t want too many emotions involved but to put it bluntly; I’d already screwed the pooch as far as that was concerned. (There was an Italian designer and a NY sartorialist on the back burner, there were a lot of choices). I had to ask myself: was the issue with – them seeing me as a dispensable quantity or that they liked that I could do that to myself? Neither was true in reality but I quite suddenly saw it from their point of view: when Hank left that day I was happily spent and nodding off. I heard him put on his clothes and walk out. He was spot on; I didn’t care either way. But should I?

That evening I asked P to open the envelope. I couldn’t look at the papers. “It just reads you’re free.” She told me.

It just reads you’re free.

I pushed my face into her belly. Soft and open from 3 babies, I needed that. Weeping, I had an internal voice telling me to move on. I had wanted a tender touch from Marvin but of course it wasn’t there. There was sadness; emptiness. There was no love.  Except from P who would love me no matter.

I knew I had done it to myself.

I left the papers at P’s and went home. I was completely devastated. I had no idea what was going to get me through the night, except knowing that I had to because there was no other choice.



With friends like these…..

I made it to Marvin’s on Sunday afternoon. I had just had brunch with friends and was feeling particularly grotty from a very strange night before.

We chatted away for a bit which, was nice. I told him about the previous night and he listened. It was as if I was talking to a…..friend. Once I had made the decision I was going to be “nice” to Marvin things had changed for me. I felt like hanging out, mucking around. (Even if it was in his weird “man-room.” My goodness, he was such a bachelor. For a person with such good sartorial tastes Marvin’s place was conspicuously lacking in terms of interior consideration.) I was allowing myself to like him as another person in the world. Plus, there was another thing: he really did seem to accept me for who I was or, am. There would be no guilt trips, no tantrums, no sulking and, well the jury was out still on this one, but hopefully no manipulation.

We had great sex. The sex was getting even better if that were possible. I guess we were getting to know each other.

He liked to ask how it was with other men. I don’t know why but I could only say things like “he’s ok” or “pretty good.” But in fact, they were all different. The only thing that any of these men had in common was that they liked sex. Loved it even and really put their back into it. In this way they were like me. It was unbearable when I was with a man who wouldn’t let go because it always means I can’t and for me, then why bother? Marvin had always been good technically but it was easy to issue a cold goodbye and get on with my day without giving the experience a second thought. This day, it came closer to how it was with the Dominican. I felt a pang of genuine desire. Or maybe, I just enjoyed him more now that I liked him. He was like a lion toying with a chihuahua, tossing me to and fro, playing with my body; liberal with his pinches, bites and slaps. He came on my face. Twice. He played with my ass, bossed me around, went down on me, fucked my feet even. Marvin did what he wanted with me and I completely and utterly trusted him. Actual surrender which, was the most liberating feeling.

We laughed a lot that day. He went into his quirky, childish goofy mode for a little while which I had only seen once before. I knew it meant he was happy. Nice! We were enjoying each other’s company. This was all new territory for me and as long as I stayed in the moment I could indulge it. I really had to stop myself from wondering when the guillotine was going to fall on my neck.

Walking to the subway afterward the weather was glorious. I had a gazillion texts from Hank and Tiger. I hadn’t flipped them off rotation for Marvin, I just didn’t have time because I had been busy with other things. After all, I could barely fit Marvin in. Tiger was adamant: “You should have fucked me! Why is he so good?” Hank was more pragmatic: “Fit me in for a top-up. You won’t regret it.”

Instead I stopped for a margarita on the way home and met a lovely Australian musician from Melbourne, this was more like it.

I had errands to run though so I peeled myself away and pootled home completely satisfied with the day. A great day to, well, to use an Australian saying; get fucked.

The maraschino experiment part 2

Sunday morning Marvin woke me up by touching me.

Of all the things that came to mind I thought of the fact that I had never seen Marvin lie on his side, which he was doing now. I had already given this far too much thought:

What if he’s like the Elephant Man? What if he can only lay on his back otherwise he’ll die?

When I noticed that Hank’s hair was brown and not blonde it made me take inventory. Here were the things I’d previously noticed about Marvin without knowing him very well:

He always lay on his back; he leaned slightly to the side when he walked; he waved his hands around like a conductor when he talked; his teeth were perfect looking; he had stripey hands; he made no sound when he climaxed (disconcerting! Had he been in prison? I didn’t like to ask.); he was impatient by nature and he was the biggest dandy I’d ever met and that’s including my ex husband who really stole the show in that category.

The day before I’d had another brilliant stoop chat with A. We talked about dating and sex and connection and loneliness. A was both a barometer and a springboard. Plus he was honest with himself. He was brave enough to do that, not bend and twist and change shape to attain intimacy in the hope that he could be loved. He rarely had sex with his dates, it had to be authentic for him. Also, there had to be a possibility for longevity; a scope which fueled deepening understanding, becoming better and more real. I both admired him and was afraid for him.

Marvin and I had sex and it was great. He bit my ear when he came and he made a sound! I was ecstatic.

Now that I’d magically seen him on his side I wanted to know more. I asked him similar questions to the ones I had asked A except Marvin is dissimilar to A so there were differing points of inquiry. Marvin spoke of previously being another way; having a girlfriend, breaking up and then becoming “enlightened.” His whole philosophy and I don’t use that term lightly, surrounded ideas of ownership, biological evolution and the “I’m ok, You’re ok” approach. This led me to question my previous assumptions. Marvin had pushed me just like the rest of them. First, he wanted to have sex in my bed which, is not normally the go with me; he wanted me to come to his work, then he wanted to stay the night all of which over a period of 6 or seven months or so he had accomplished. I asked him about those things because I found them very threatening or at the least counter to his stated beliefs. He told me that those demands were to simplify things and make life, ergonomics and timing even, more convenient.

I measured myself against those two and even Hank who P had made me swear off for life. There were a few things I knew for certain: I consider my life to be under the liberty and or constraints of autonomous design with me at the helm. This means when I made the decisions I did in my mid to late teens and early 20’s I was still making them for myself no matter how appropriately immature or misguided. When I stayed with the same man for 14 years I did so because I wanted to and believed in something outside of my immediate wants and needs. I’m not ashamed of it, I wouldn’t make different decisions, my “philosophy” if I had one has not changed. I do what I feel I need to at the right time for reasons that are considered. My recent lifestyle fits into the same category. Also, I am sensually driven and willing to take risks. The awkward way someone holds their coffee cup is as charming to me as the smell of someone’s neck or a great conversation, it’s all sensual. I love sex too. All women yearn to be fucked well and I really am that base. The risk part is obvious. Lastly, my life is complex and by that I mean there are a lot of balls in the air. When Marvin wondered if I wouldn’t get lost finding my way home he was absolutely right. I compartmentalize as Hank said and this is the “other” category, the loosey goosey do as I please compartment that has nothing to do with my family, friends, career or sometimes brain. It’s one that makes me feel good and often, I really can’t afford nor do I want the emotional ties that seem to come with it. I don’t feel bad about it. It just is.

I didn’t hold the same views as any of them but at some stage or another in my life I did, even Hanks. If H was right and a PhD thesis was in order I was certainly collecting enough raw data. Could it be that I am the first one to tie the knot in the stem? I doubted it. I also doubted being the first to do anything really meant anything in adult life. It certainly is fun being in the running though.

The maraschino experiment part 1

I went to meet Vincent at a little bar in the Lower East Side. I really liked his way. Always making quips, keeping it light, full of confidence. I wouldn’t exactly say he was sweet, just substantial.

We had a few bevvies then he told me his friends wanted to catch up with him and meet us wherever we were. No worries there.
He kept talking about his friend, Aaron and their long history.
Turns out he meant Erin.

While Erin was on her way he remarked that strangely, Erin and I were very similar looking and there had been some sexual tension between them for some time. Well… on his side anyway.

As Erin walked in the bar Vincent planted one on me. It was an utterly unremarkable kiss, completely dispassionate.

I wanted to get outta there. The next half hour was so awkward it made me itchy. I offered everyone a cigarette and stole my chance: I paid the tab and legged it. As I was going, Vincent road blocked me and stuffed some cash in my breast pocket. He went in for another kiss. I would have felt more sizzle kissing a subway poster. I’m not saying it was all his fault, it takes two after all.

I checked my pocket a few minutes later and found $100.

Well. I thought, I sure earned that money.

I sent him a reassuring text: the chemistry was not just on his side, I say go for it! Sometimes people just need a little push.

On my way home I stopped in at my favorite bar. JnoK, his wife and A were there. Boy, were we all happy to see each other. It was excellent being around people I loved and who loved me. I told them about Vincent and we all laughed until our eyeballs hurt. Outside, I told JnoK about my shoes and Marvin and like all my good friends, he gave me a serve. Apparently “sorry” only gets a gal so far where men were concerned. What a nice man he was, not just caring for me but also caring that I am kind to others. These people had seen me at my worst and they still loved me to death. My loyalty had no limit where they were concerned.

We sat at our usual spot at the bar. JnoK’s wife had a drink which came with a maraschino cherry. I told them about A and his knots. Before long the whole gang of us including the bar staff had cherry stems in our mouths. It’s much harder than you’d think! I finally got it though and proudly displayed my handiwork. We all touched each other and smiled, I loved these moments. I was committing it to memory, conscious of the fact that this was the happiest I’d been in weeks. J was dancing and acting crazy behind the bar.

“That’s what I call peacocking……. stiletto heel.”

JnoK wasn’t going to let anything slide tonight.

I left at around 2 and completely satisfied, walked home with a stupid smile on my face. I loved them. I could be myself around them. They were beautiful.

The next day, I had to finish a paper I’d been working on. That week I had been working until 1 am every night with my laptop on my knee, books and research papers spread across the bed and my little boy nestled in bed next to me. There simply hadn’t been room for anything or anyone else.

Saturday night, H had been in contact. Could I please come out and see her? I had planned on spending at least another 3 hours writing but by some miracle I knocked the whole thing off at around 10. She was alone out there in the Big Smoke (although H is never alone, really) nursing a glass of wine, and well who was I to let her down? She’d be gone in 2 weeks and time with her was precious.

I met her at Marvin’s room. She was glowy as usual. H is definitely my type of woman, she’s got her own thing going on, I loved the way she flicked her hair to the side. She was strong and vulnerable at the same time which to me is just pure human. When H and I hit the town it seems we can get anything we want, she’s that enigmatic. Marvin introduced us to a group of Austrian siblings having a family holiday in NYC. H was already great chums with all of them. Without asking, the big brother helped me remove my coat. I was amazed and charmed by this small gesture. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m used to doing things on my own; even when someone holds the subway doors open for me I feel so incredibly grateful, always touched. So taking my coat was a penultimate act of generosity to me.

Plus, he was dressed beautifully. Understated, simple, clean. We all socialized together and enjoyed each other’s company. They were friendly. I liked them. I stroked the older sisters’ hair. I couldn’t help myself and I really mean that. I felt compelled by a little force within to do it as inappropriately intimate as it was. It was soft and lovely. I saw the big brother doing it too, brushing it off her shoulder, running his hand down the length of it. Again I found something in this that moved me. Small, considerate, caring gestures, intimacy outside a sexual origin. I was transfixed.

We left Marvin’s room and went downstairs to the big room to dance. Somehow big brother and I were separated from the women. We seized the moment and kissed. It was very nice, he felt nice, he was nice. We all danced a little, he touched my body, firm and gentle. We all agreed to go back up to Marvin’s room and at that moment H and I lost all three of the Austrians. H and I didn’t mind at all.

We stayed there for a little while even after it closed then we went back downstairs this time with Marvin. H and I were standing on the landing and I felt some arms around me from behind. The brother had returned. Lovely! I had a little moment where I felt crowded in. I wanted him to get off me. I hate being held from behind, it makes me feel like I’m being restrained. I turned around to say something and he beamed so I laughed. I was deliriously tired and he made me smile.

That room shut down too. H and I made our way to the front doors. It was a bit busy and chaotic. I saw the brother at the door. He wanted me to go home with him. But there was H and Marvin. Marvin gave me a smile which, is his way.

More on that later.

We poured H into a cab and Marvin took the train with me. Poor bastard could have gotten to my place or even his 3 times faster on his bike. He told me if he didn’t physically get on the train with me I’d get lost or fall down the steps or well, whatever typical thing. He let me put my head on his shoulder. He’d do the thinking for me and it would be ok. This was another kindness that took me aback. The idea of someone taking a share of even the smallest of my responsibilities (getting home) was extraordinary. I moved from a state of rock to sand.

More on that later.

Marvin shows me the view, Hank returns.

I met Marvin at his work at 3 am. I had on a dress I had worn to work that day that I couldn’t unzip, the back of it makes it impossible for me to reach. I had to ask someone on the subway to zip it up that morning. Nothing says “I live alone” more than asking a stranger to zip up your dress.

Marvin was just inside the door when I arrived and he looked gorgeous. I love the way Marvin puts himself together. He smiled. He could have knocked me off my feet with a feather. We had a drink and a dance and he suggested we go elsewhere. He was so excited, I’d never seen him like that and it was sweet. We went to the top of the Standard. They had long since closed the bar but doors open for Marvin. We sat down and he pointed a woman out. Marvin and I wanted to have sex with a woman together and now it was really just a matter of finding one. She was lovely looking but Marvin was better and I was enjoying his company too much. He had both of his hands up my dress and this was making it hard to sit still. I was very wet. I wanted him to slip his fingers inside me. He didn’t make me wait too long however, he took me into the bathroom. One entire wall was glass and the Manhattan skyline was stunning. He pulled off my knickers and had his cock in me within seconds. He felt amazing. I loved the way Marvin fucked me, as if he owns my body but at the same time his voice was so gentle and for some reason this always surprised me. He was like a child wearing a man suit.
We were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was time to go.

We went back to his place and I finally got to watch Marvin eat. He even fed me. What bliss. We had sex and chatted a little. He was sweet. I just couldn’t relax though and had to leave. I started putting on my shoes in his bedroom. I knew he hated shoes in the apartment and he asked me not to. We exchanged a few cross words. We were cut from the same cloth in many ways and both hated being told what to do.

I walked outside in the rain and within minutes I was sopping. Stop Hop told me I’d have to take 4 different trains to get home. I put my head down and forged onward.

Some hours later I arrived at my apartment. I flopped on the bed.

Godammit, I couldn’t get my dress off! I laughed to myself.

I called A hoping he’d be next door but no luck. He suggested I ask someone at the cafe. It was one thing to ask a stranger to zip you up but quite another to ask them to unzip you. I lay on the floor on my back and wriggled my body until the dress rode up far enough for me to reach it. Finally, wet and fed up I flopped back into bed. I could not stop thinking about the shoes. Why had I done that? Marvin had been nothing but sweet.

Recently my friend J casually mentioned I had my “stiletto heel firmly wedged into the back of all men.” Well, maybe it was even worse than that. I felt like I was made of cardboard. Dull, soggy and uniformly nondescript. And just in that moment, quite the bitch. I’d apologize. Now I had to consider someone else, I had a lot to learn.

The next day Hank wanted to come over. I said no but he was very persistent. I told him he’d have to be gentle. When he walked in I noticed he wasn’t blonde at all but his hair was dark brown. Now that I had seen Marvin I was starting to see Hank. I think we’d been together maybe 7 or 8 times and I didn’t know the color of his hair, It really was that bad. He took off my shorts and gave me head…..For a brief period of time. We fucked on the couch. It was much better than last time. There was always something missing with Hank and I could never place it. He told me he had a kid and one on the way: both unplanned.

Jesus Hank!

I told him he had to go and I jumped in the shower. I was going to meet my H and I was looking forward to seeing her. Hank had made me late. I also wanted to see Marvin again if I could. I charged onto the street and put on my glasses. I was still feeling the effects of last night and it must have been bad for me to put on the granny specs. The temperature was just right and I ended up having a marvelous time with H. I did see Marvin but briefly. I wanted to go to bed.

The next day I had brunch with C and drinks with P and The Sailor. I saw Hank again at around 11. He told me I’d lost too much weight. Actually Hank talked a lot to me about how sexy he thought I was and often monologued about my bottom which, I thought was hilarious. He also liked to boss me around.

“No more, okay?” (weight loss)

Hank liked to talk to me in this way.

“We’re going to have to talk about what a nasty whore you are.”

“I own your pussy. ”


I had been outside and was wearing a beanie. He told me I looked like a bag lady. I think I probably did but where Hank was concerned I didn’t bother much. We started on the couch and got up to take a break. I headed toward the stairs and he was in hot pursuit. He literally tackled me by grabbing one of my legs out from under me. Then he leapt like an animal, I didn’t stand a chance. On the stairs. Weirdly, it made sense ergonomically. There’s no doubt Hank’s a good lay and he thinks it of himself too. I was still trying to figure it out… The thing that was missing. I wondered if it was his soul.

When he was done he wanted to go again. I had to wake up early. Hank had to go.

I woke a few hours later with the most overwhelming feeling of sadness. Inexplicably, I often was this way after seeing Hank. He made me feel lonely when before I was not. It was as if someone had thrown a rock through my psyche. Because I couldn’t locate it’s origin I just pushed it down. All the next day I couldn’t eat. I wanted someone to hold me.

I missed N.

Hank and the smack down

Hank was always persistent. He loved to text all weekend and he would want to come over at 3:30 in the morning. I always put Hank on the backburner and this time he was cross. He sent me a particularly nasty text about being jerked around to which I could only reply ‘sorry.’
He bounced back quick enough though and I found him on my doorstep early Sunday night.
I preferred his place because it was cute and had a backyard but he was here now so what the hell.
He stood in front of me and took my clothes off. The thing about Hank is that he’s hairless. Being blonde, he had soft skin and he’s mighty tall so when he stood next to me or pulled me to him I was looking directly at his hairless chest. In every other respect he was quite stunning but this one feature remained remarkable to me. A little creepy maybe.
But. All God’s critters have a place in the choir.
The last time Hank fucked me he let me cum which, never happens with him. We got into our usual groove. A few minutes later he pulled my hair so hard he had yanked my head to the side and I heard my neck crack again Shit that hurt. The last few times he had started slapping my face every time I started getting too passionate, too ‘handsy’ or wanted to kiss. This Sunday he was in overdrive, slamming my head into the mattress and then holding my face down with his full weight. He restrained me with his elbows and held me by the neck.

The thing is: We had discussed this last time. I asked him why he did that and told him he had to feel me out a bit better. He told me he took his ques from me which was baffling. I had tapped him out a few times and he responded well to that. This time he came twice and rolled off, satisfied with his efforts. I was left cold though. I’ve mentioned before but Hank is terribly detached. Now, I could see something different: He was also insensitive.

A darker consideration loomed: I definitely liked losing control and so far enjoyed sex the most when it was a little violent or very passionate. I just didn’t seem to be able to figure out where the line was. This time I knew I had crossed it for myself. Not unpredictability, I had started disassociating from myself when I was with Hank. So why had I gone for another round?
The next day I had a bruise on my cheek and bruises all over my upper arms. I looked like I’d been bashed. It was something The Bartender asked about when we were together.
“When you first came in you had bruises all over your arms how did they get there?”
What was I to say?
“Rough sex.”
I’m not sure how that sounded but I didn’t care. By that stage I already knew I wouldn’t see The Bartender again.
Hank was delegated to the bottom of rotation and although that seems unfair (I think he was doing his best) I had a sour taste in my mouth over the whole thing.

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